


Faithful Friends, Who Are Dear to Us

by Project7723



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: And a Snack, Christmas Lights, Concussions, First Meetings, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Gratuitous Mentions of Turduckon, Hurt/Comfort, Jack and Bozer Pre-Bromance, Le Start of a Beautiful Three-Way Bromance, Mac Needs a Nap, Post-Sandbox, Pre-Series, There is ice cream, christmas eve eve, les early years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28214907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project7723/pseuds/Project7723
Summary: Mac had played through Jack and Bozer's meeting in his head countless times, countless ways since Jack had announced his plan to glue himself to Mac’s side when they were discharged, and he still had no idea how it would go down.In any case, whatever he had, or had not been expecting, Jack and Bozer ganging up on him was not it.Although, in retrospect, it probably should have been.Or, a peek into Mac and Jack's first Christmas as newly-minted civilians.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Wilt Bozer & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Wilt Bozer & Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 65





	Faithful Friends, Who Are Dear to Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impossiblepluto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/gifts).
  * Inspired by [since we've no place to go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21674983) by [impossiblepluto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto). 



> Because I've kinda missed Christmas the last several years, thanks to life...life-ing, and your Christmas fics have been a major part of why I've been sucked deeper into the Christmas Vibe this year. Thank you so much. *hugs*

Mac had expected it to be awkward. Two primary components of two impossibly different lives coming together for the first time? They always seemed to get along fine over video calls, but in person? Mac didn’t even know if they would be compatible. Would there be insecurities? Bozer in their lifelong friendship, or Jack in their comparatively new one? Mac had played through his friends’ meeting in his head countless times, countless ways since Jack had announced his plan to glue himself to Mac’s side when they were discharged, and he still had no idea how it would go down.

In any case, whatever he had, or had not been expecting, Jack and Bozer ganging up on him was not it.

Although, in retrospect, it probably should have been.

*******

_**DECEMBER 23rd, 2012** _

_**MAC'S HOUSE** _

_**NOT A BURGLARY IN-PROGRESS** _

They arrived late. And early. A paradox that Jack proudly—and loudly—boasted was a trick that only the two of them could pull off as Mac shushed him and set about picking his own lock.

“He change the locks on you, or somethin’, Carl’s? You sure ol’ Bozo wants you home?” Jack asked between absent hums. “...shoulda changed that stupid lock, I shoulda made you leave your keys...”

“It’s _Bozer,_ and keep your voice down,” Mac hissed, ignoring the impromptu Gloria concert. “He probably has a shift in the morning. He didn’t change the lock, he just wasn’t expecting us for three more days. And I didn’t think to bring my house keys to Afghanistan.”

“...if I’d’a known for just one second you’d be back to bother me!” Mac sensed Jack dancing behind him as his voice took on soul and volume. “Go on, now, go! Walk out the door! Just turn around now, ‘cause you’re not welcome anymore!”

_“Shhhh.”_

“Hey, man,” Jack said, still dancing gently, “what’s taking so long? I’ve watched you disarm bombs in half this time.”

Mac stopped what he was doing and turned to blink incredulously at Jack. “Y’know, it’d probably go faster if you’d hold the flashlight where it will actually give me light, instead of using it as a miniature strobe light.” He left out that Jack’s budget special effects were exacerbating his headache.

Jack grumbled something about how he was touchy when he was hungry before holding the light over Mac’s work and starting up his humming again.

The tumblers clicked and the door creaked open. Mac froze in the doorway, afraid the sound had woken Bozer.

“Sounds like ol’ Bozo doesn’t give your hinges a whole lotta TLC.”

“Yeah,” Mac mused as he cautiously entered the hall. At least the floor didn’t seem to have grown creaky in his absence.

Their duffles—or body bags, as Jack called them—had been left in the trunk, but Jack set their backpacks in the kitchen as Mac switched on the light over the sink and began searching for a midnight supper. He had passed hungry so long ago, the thought of food sent sharp pains through his stomach and nausea roiling up his throat. The remnants of a concussion from their last day in the field had made eating on either of their plane rides impossible and Mac knew he was reaching the end of his rope. His aching stomach growled at him, demanding attention, and he growled right back as he picked through the cabinets for something that didn’t make him want to ralph at the very thought of it. He could feel Jack’s eyes on him from where he had settled against the counter, helping himself to a pack of Oreo’s.

“Havin’ trouble there, slick?” His tone was nonchalant, but Mac could hear the concern in it.

He threw up his hands and released a loud sigh. “I can’t find anything I feel like I can eat without losing it.”

Jack grimaced around a cookie. “I told you. Never should’ve let it get this bad. Should’ve made you eat something on the plane.”

Mac shrugged, rubbing at his eyes in a fruitless attempt to coax away the ache behind them. “Would’ve just lost it then.”

Jack let his eyes wander over the mess of foodstuffs Mac had strewn over the counters. He made a face. “Your boy sure eats fancy.”

“Yeah.” Mac smirked. “He’s pretty handy in the kitchen.”

“Don’t I know it. That gingerbread he sent last year was better than my dead grandmother’s, God rest her soul.” His head cocked to the side. “Uh—don’t tell her I said so.”

Mac just looked hopelessly around at the mountain of food before them, feeling like the girl who pulls dozens of outfits from her wardrobe only to exclaim she has nothing to wear. He tugged at his hair in frustration. “Maybe I’ll just eat in the morning.”

“Oh, no you won’t. What’ll Bozer say if I let you pass out on your first day home? Besides, you and I both know it’s only gonna get worse the longer you wait.”

Mac was about to respond when the kitchen lights flashed on and he instead let out a cry of surprise and pain as his hands flew up to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. He could feel Jack go on the offensive next to him, stiffening and no doubt grabbing the jar of pickles from the counter to use as a weapon.

“Mac?”

Mac pried his eyes open to see Bozer standing in the kitchen doorway, groggy eyes darting between himself and Jack, hesitating a little longer on Jack each time. Mac’s gaze cut to his partner. He guessed wrong—Jack had snatched up the Spanish olives and stood with the jar poised over his head, ready to throw it if necessary. Mac caught his hand and guided it back towards the counter. “Put that down.” Then, turning to Bozer with a careful grin, “Hey, Boze, you wanna put that away?”

Bozer looked down at the baseball bat in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. “Yeah, man, sorry.” He frowned, his sleepy blinks mirroring Mac’s pained ones at the abrupt change in lighting. “I thought I was bein’ robbed, or somethin’.”

The three of them looked at each other for a few moments before Bozer cracked a grin and laughed, dropping the bat with a clatter and darting across the kitchen to engulf Mac in a bear hug. Mac smiled, swallowing back the nausea and hugging back. “Missed you, buddy.”

“I missed you, too, man!” His voice was muffled in Mac’s shirt. “What happened to Thursday? I was gonna have everything ready for a late Christmas with you t—” Bozer broke off suddenly, seeming to remember that Jack was there. “Jack, my man!” He pulled away from Mac and held his arms wide. “Come on, bring it in!”

Mac watched with raised eyebrows as his two best friends greeted each other as if they had known each other forever, their bro-hug complete with a staccato of painful-sounding back slaps.

“So glad to finally meet you in person, man,” Bozer enthused. “Thanks for takin’ care of my boy.” Mac started to roll his eyes but aborted halfway through when a wave of dizziness swept over him and he clutched at the countertop. He recovered quickly, plastering on a smile in a lame attempt at cover, but Jack had not missed his falter.

“Yeah,” he said, easing away from Bozer and snagging Mac’s elbow. “Speaking of which,” he pushed Mac into a stool, “think you could help us rustle up some grub? Carl’s Jr. here hasn’t eaten anything since sometime yesterday, and let me tell you, my man’s gettin’ _hangry_.”

Bozer’s face took on a look of horror and Mac held out his hands, about to assure him that he was okay, just a little nauseous, when the room spun threateningly around him. He swayed.

“Easy, there, hoss.” Jack caught his hands and guided them to the countertop with one hand, his other pressing on the back of Mac’s neck until his head came to rest on his forearms. He kept a hand on Mac’s back as he turned back to Bozer. “And maybe get the lights?”

Mac heard the exact moment Bozer recovered and scuffled into action. The kitchen was suddenly dim again and Mac could not suppress his sigh of relief.

“What’s wrong with him?” Bozer’s voice was anxious and Mac moved to sit up.

“I’m fi—”

His words and his motion were halted by Jack’s hand, firm on his back. “Yeah, you’re just peachy. Sit down.”

“Seriously, is he okay?” Mac could practically feel the worry vibrating off of Bozer and he settled for turning his head enough to catch his eyes with one of his own.

“I’m okay, Boze. Just a little...concussed.”

“Oh.” Bozer breathed out a _phew_ and gave his hand a careless flick. “Now that I can deal with. Have dealt with. On way too many occasions.”

Mac’s peripheral vision just caught Jack’s finger as he pointed from himself to Bozer and back a few times. “Oh, man. You and me? We are so gonna exchange Mac Doing Stupid Crap stories later.”

“Oh, it is _on_. I have a lifetime’s worth.”

“Guys. Seriously? I’m right here,” Mac grumbled.

If anyone heard him they didn’t let on. Jack snorted. “I may have only known him a couple’a years, but I bet I have just about as many as you do. You’d be amazed at all the trouble this boy can get into with a tablespoon of fertilizer and a couple of fuse boxes.”

Mac felt Bozer sober. “Is that—how did—was this, uh, was this an IED?” He tried to pass it off as casual, but Mac heard the quiver in his voice.

Apparently Jack did, too. “Uhhh, yeah.” His fingers tapped once, twice, on Mac’s shoulders as he considered the situation. Mac wondered how he would proceed. “Yep.” Levity, then. “Satan’s Sandbox decided it wanted to give us one last parting gift before we shipped out. It bein’ Christmas, and all.”

Bozer smirked. It was wobbly at first, but Mac saw him bury his apprehension as a full grin split across his face. “Ain’t nobody happy to see my boy go, not even the desert.” He stepped closer and gave Mac’s shoulder a tentative squeeze, his voice softening. “Sure am happy to see you home, though.”

Mac aimed a lopsided smile in his direction. “Me too, buddy.” He shot a glare at what he could see of Jack. “It’s really not that bad. Just a few bumps and bruises and a mild—”

“—moderate—” Jack cut in.

“—concussion.” He shrugged a little. “That and the—”

“—low blood sugar,” Jack and Bozer said in unison, eyes lighting up and pointing at each other like that old Spiderman meme.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Mac groaned, turning back to bury his face in his arms.

When they were finished _ayyyyy_ -ing at each other, Jack and Bozer turned their attention back to the problem of food.

“I haven’t even gotten started with the baking yet, man,” Bozer apologized.

Mac mumbled his forgiveness into his sleeves as he listened to Bozer shuffling through cabinets he had already searched.

“I could whip up some pasta? I might have a couple Totino’s in the freezer. There’s leftover turducken from the other day…”

“Tur-what now?”

Mac smirked. He didn’t need to see Jack to know what face went with that voice.

“Turducken,” Bozer explained. “It’s a chicken, cooked in a duck, cooked in a turkey. Makes the best gravy. And soup. Hey, Mac, you want me to put together some turducken noodle soup?”

Mac groaned.

Jack’s other hand came to rest on Mac’s shoulder as if to shield him from Bozer’s culinary endeavors. “Maybe we should, you know—uh, think simpler?”

Bozer stopped shuffling. “Simpler?”

“Yeah,” Jack reasoned. “Like a pack of ramen or a can of Campbell’s, or something.”

Mac snorted and waited for Hurricane Bozer to hit.

“A pack of—canned soup? In _my_ house?!”

“My house,” Mac hummed.

“In _his_ house?? Not on my watch!”

One of Jack’s hands was lifted, presumably in an attempt at placation. “Okay, okay! Yeesh. I’m just saying something gentle, you know? Sick person food?”

Bozer snapped his fingers. “I like the way you think. You think you can handle some ice cream, Mac?”

Mac considered for a moment. His stomach didn’t immediately rebel at the notion, so that, at least, was a plus. “I think so?”

Jack gave his back a clap. “Best reaction so far. Hurry, before he changes his mind.”

As Bozer headed down to the deep-freeze, Jack helped Mac to his feet. With his friend out of the room, Mac was more than content to lean on Jack as he guided his steps toward the living room. “This way?”

“Yeah,” Mac breathed. The dizziness was almost overpowering now, the pain in his stomach becoming unbearable. Jack eased him gently onto the nearest couch and he let his head fall back against the cushion as Jack’s weight settled next to him.

“You doing okay, hoss?” His voice was soft, a voice he only used when they were alone. _Are you really doing okay?_ Mac couldn’t lie to this voice.

He sighed. “I will be. If I can keep the ice cream down, I think I’ll start feeling better pretty quickly. If I can’t…”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.” Jack squeezed Mac’s shoulder and Mac lifted his head so he could put his arm across the back of the couch behind him, settling back against it as Bozer called from the kitchen.

“Semi-loud sound incoming, Mac!”

A whirring sound kicked up, one Mac knew he would recognize if he could bring himself to care. He couldn’t. Jack ran a hand through his hair and he hummed softly.

A few moments later, the noise was gone and there were several clinking sounds. A minute or so after that, Mac opened his eyes to see Bozer walk in, carefully balancing three tall glasses filled with...something. Mac frowned.

“What happened to the ice cream, man?” Jack queried.

“Milkshakes,” Bozer explained. “Thought drinking might be a little easier on Mac’s stomach than eating.”

Jack nodded his understanding as Bozer set the tray on the coffee table and switched on the Christmas lights, clicking until they were on their lowest setting. Bright enough to avoid pouring milkshake all over each other, but not so much that it would hurt Mac’s head.

“I stocked up on Rocky Road yesterday,” Bozer said as he handed Jack his glass and took the space on Mac’s other side, “but considering what happened the _last_ time you had Rocky Road on a concussion, I figured you might wanna wait a few days. This is mint chocolate chip.”

Jack snorted. “Dang, son! He really does have practice with this. What did you put this poor kid through?”

Unwilling to risk rolling his eyes again and afraid to shake his head, Mac did the only thing he could. He stuck out his tongue.

Jack’s snort escalated to a chortle and Bozer cackled as he pressed an icy glass into Mac’s hand. “Haven’t seen you do that since we were eight and my mom caught you.”

“Yeah, well, your mom can be terrifying.” Bozer and Jack lean forward slightly as he takes a cautious pull on his shake. Bozer’s fingers twitch in the direction of the wastebasket. Mac swallows. They let out a soft breath in tandem. His shoulders slump and his eyes drift to the ceiling. “Guys. You do not have to monitor my every move. It’s a milkshake.”

“Well, excuse us for being concerned when your face is greener than that ice cream,” Jack said indignantly.

Bozer nodded, setting the wastebasket at Mac’s feet. “Just in case.”

Mac sighed. “I’m sorry.” He pressed the heel of free his hand to his eye. “I’m not trying to be difficult. Thank you, guys. It’s good, Bozer. Really good. Best thing I’ve had in a literal year.”

“Man, I’m just glad you’re keeping in down so far. Besides, I missed you so much, I don’t even mind Grumpy Mac right now.”

Mac offered him a lopsided smile as he took another tentative sip, waiting a moment to see if it would settle. The mint seemed to be easing his nausea and he was about to tell Bozer as much when a stabbing pain flared behind his eyes and he gasped, almost dropping his glass. Warm hands pulled it away from him while another set rubbed his shoulders.

“Cold incoming, bud,” Jack’s voice warned and he barely had time to wonder what that meant before something wet and icy was pressed against his temple. He flinched away at the initial shock, but the cold followed him and after a moment, he leaned into it, sighing as the chill numbed the hurt.

“Better?”

Mac hummed, not really sure who had spoken, not really caring.

The hand on his back rubbed steady circles, eventually working its way up to his neck, firm but careful. The cold on his face—a glass, his brain supplied as it slowly began to come back online—lost its bite and calloused fingers turned it to a fresh spot.

“Mac, you with us?” Bozer’s voice.

“Yeah, I’m—I’m good.” He cracked his eyes open carefully, making sure the dim lighting wouldn’t send another jolt through his skull. At some point, he had doubled over and he moved gingerly to sit up.

"Easy, hoss." The glass was pulled away from his face and Jack caught his arms, easing him gently upright. "Take it slow."

For the next few minutes, Jack and Boxer did an admirable job feigning normalcy, sipping their own shakes and tossing jabs back and forth like old pals while Mac recovered. Were it not for Bozer's fingers rubbing slow circles on his shoulder and Jack's tangling in and out of the hair at the nape of Mac's neck, he never would have known they were concerned.

Well. That, and the fact that they were them.

After a while, Jack turned his attention back to him. "You think you can try some more, bud?"

Mac nodded, accepting his glass from Bozer and stirring at it for a few moments before taking another pull.

"Good man," Jack praised, giving his hair an impossibly gentle ruffle. "See if you can finish that up and then we'll see about getting you to bed."

"Take your time," Bozer encouraged. "I've got the sheets all washed, just gotta get them on the beds."

Mac nodded, mumbling acknowledgment and wondering when he had become this tired. Bozer stood and said something that Mac didn't catch.

"What?"

Bozer didn't answer, and Mac frowned when he looked up to find him gone.

"I didn’t say anything,” Jack said. “Try to finish that up.” He gestured to Mac's cup, still three-quarters full. Mac looked down at it and was suddenly struck with the desire to cry.

"Whoa, hey, what's the matter there, hoss?"

Mac shook his head and swallowed. "There's just so much." His voice wobbled and he rubbed at prickling eyes in frustration and annoyance. This was hardly the first time Jack had seen him cry, but it was the first time the tears that were shed were shed over something as utterly inconsequential as ice cream. He half expected Jack to tease him, but he just carried on as if he hadn’t noticed.

“Aw, it’s not as much as it looks like, slick. Go ahead, drink a little more.”

The time passed with small sips and encouragement from Jack. “Good that’s good, bud. Just one more sip.”

“That’s what you said last time. And the time before that. And before that.” Probably. Mac didn’t actually remember how many times Jack had promised _just one more._

“Yeah, well, this time I mean it.”

Air and liquid rattled in the straw and Mac looked down in surprise. “Oh.”

“Look at that. Told ya it wasn’t that much.”

Mac just mumbled something even he didn’t understand, allowing Jack to take his glass and put it on the coffee table before pulling Mac up against him. Mac sighed as his head settled against Jack’s shoulder.

“Whatcha thinkin’, Carl’s?”

Mac hummed thoughtfully. “Just that it’s been a really long day.”

Jack scoffed. “You got that right. Two days, really. Did you get any sleep on the flight?”

Mac shrugged. He was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open between blinks.

“That’s what I thought.” Jack groaned. “I should just start drugging you before flights.”

Mac pointed out that he couldn’t take drugs with a concussion. Or, he meant to.

“Say what, hoss? Was that English?”

Mac released an annoyed sigh into the folds of Jack’s t-shirt. “ _Drugs_ ,” he insisted.

*******

When Bozer returned from making the beds in Mac’s room and the guest room, he found Mac sound asleep, face pressed into Jack’s shoulder. Jack was looking down at him, one corner of his mouth twitching, eyes seemingly fixated on the soft glow the Christmas lights were casting in Mac’s hair. Bozer walked in quietly, announcing himself with a muted cough.

“So, how do you wanna play this?” he whispered.

Jack looks from Mac to Bozer and back again before releasing a sigh. “I shouldn’t have let him fall asleep, yet. It just kind of...happened.”

Bozer nodded. “He goes hard and then he sleeps hard. Always has.”

Jack taps Mac’s cheek a few times. “Hey, slick. Whaddya say we get you to a bed, huh?” Mac slept on. “Don’t make me carry you like a damsel.” Nothing. “In front of Bozer.” Not a peep.

Bozer snorted. “That may be our only option at this point.”

Jack nodded and shifted so he could stand, catching Mac before he faceplanted in the couch. “Alright. Here we go, hoss.” He slipped one arm around Mac’s back and the other under his knees, grunting louder than Bozer thought was necessary, griping about his joints as he straightened. Mac’s head and the arm that wasn’t draped across Jack’s shoulders dangled and swung in the air and Bozer ducked forward, cupping his head and bringing it to rest on Jack’s chest, then snagging the loose wrist and depositing it gently across Mac’s stomach. He gave it a pat for good measure.

“Thanks,” Jack grunted as he boosted his burden higher in his arms.

Mac stirred at the jostling. Bleary eyes cracked open, squinting up at the face hovering over him. “Jack?”

“Hey, bud.”

“What happened? Why’re you carrying me? Am I—” he lifted his head, looking around with a perplexed frown, “—am I hurt?”

“Nah, buddy, you’re just tired.”

Bozer was somewhat taken aback at the gentleness of Jack’s voice and the way he cradled Mac. The tenderness belying his earlier complaints.

Mac nodded at Jack’s words, accepting them, his head slowly falling back to his shoulder. Bozer was about to lead him to the bedrooms when it shot up again, nearly clipping Jack’s chin.

Mac frowned earnestly up at Jack. “You hurt?”

“Nope. I’m all good, brother.”

Mac looked suspicious. “Promise?”

“Promise. We’re gonna get us some sleep, and then we’ll both be right as kings.”

Mac buried his face in Jack’s neck, eyes slipping closed once more as he mumbled, “Mixing idioms, J’ck.”

Jack just smiled down at him and Bozer watched in silence, unable to shake the feeling that he was an intruder witnessing a sacred and well-practiced ritual. He wondered how many times Jack had carried Mac over the last two years.

Then Jack looked at him expectantly and Bozer shook himself, clearing his throat and pointing down the hall. “His room’s this way.” He went on ahead, pushing the bedroom door open and holding it as Jack passed through, then dashing forward to pull back the comforter as Jack ever-so-carefully deposited Mac on the bed.

“Get his shoes?” Jack asked quietly, and Bozer nodded, fiddling with the laces on military issue boots as Jack sat on the edge of the bed, unbuckling Mac’s belt and sliding down his jeans.

With a bit of teamwork that mostly shook away Bozer’s feelings of displacement, they wrangled Mac out of his button-down and into one of Bozer’s t-shirts. It’s loose and baggy on Mac, but a few inches too short, and Jack chuckled at the bit of skin showing between the end of the shirt and the start of Mac’s boxers.

“Remind me to tease him about wearing a crop top when he wakes up.”

Bozer smiled. “You know, I was the tall one when we were kids.”

Jack glanced up at him. “Huh. Really?”

“Yep. Mac was the shortest kid in class right up until sixth grade.”

Jack chuckled again, looking down at Mac and ruffling his hand through blond hair.

Bozer cleared his throat. “Hey, um. What I said earlier? About you taking care of him? I meant it. Thank you.”

Jack met his gaze with a determined glint. “Always.” A beat passed before his eyes softened and he jerks his chin in Bozer’s direction. “You, too. Mac hasn’t told me a whole lot about growing up, but in all the stories he has told, you’re there. Even when no one else is.”

Bozer looked at his feet and then at Jack before his eyes settled on Mac’s sleeping face. “He’s my best friend.”

Jack nodded. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Bozer smiled softly, eyes still on Mac. “Yeah, well. I feel pretty lucky myself.”

Jack grunted his agreement.

“That is,” Bozer added suddenly, “right up until he busts up my food processor for parts. Ethel did _not_ deserve that.”

Jack’s eyes drifted up to the ceiling as he let out a groan. “Ugh, yes. That’s the worst.”

Bozer’s face scrunched up. “He’s taken apart your food processor??”

“Yes. Well, no. No food processors. But sat-phones, radios, compasses, grenades, magazines, oh yes. Even my best pair of sunglasses.”

A gasp. “Not the shades!”

“Yes, the shades! Nothing is sacred to this boy.”

“You got that right. We should see if there’s a plan for that.” He waved his hand in the air as if revealing a sign and tried for an Australian accent. “Fifteen minutes could save you fifteen percent or more on Mac insurance.”

Jack barked out a laugh and quickly smothered it with his hand. “You know something, Bozer? I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”

Bozer smiled, accepting the proffered fist-bump. “Hooah.”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, sweet soul! Thank you for reading. xoxox
> 
> P.S. This was inspired by impossiblepluto's whole Christmas series, but apparently I can't list a series as inspiration, so I just chose one fic. *Definitely* recommend you check it out--this series gives me all the warm fuzzies.


End file.
